NaPoWriMo: Jasmine, a guidebook

Smile.

Say hello.

A friendly word.

Reach out a hand.

Be prepared for a hug.

Offer to share and expect a decline.

Offer again.

Insist.

Let it go.

 

Listen.

Just listen –

without interruption.

Respond.

Please respond so she knows you’ve heard.

For these words come from her soul

And they have been cut short too often.

 

Open up.

Tell her everything.

Share your feelings.

For she’ll listen without judgement.

She wants to know everything –

not to gossip.

She wants to learn and grow.

and understand your perspective.

 

Bring a second layer –

or wood for a fire.

Let her stand in the smoke.

Eyes closed.

Back against the flames.

 

When she runs,

let her go –

don’t close the door.

She might be lost

but she’ll always find her way  –

it must be on her own.

 

Wear a long sleeve

or carry tissues.

Hold her tight.

Don’t tell her to stop.

Let her cry –

she holds too much to keep it in.

 

Be ready to recap the movie.

Don’t expect her to know the lines

nor understand the references.

Never quiz her.

Acknowledge when she remembers

or quotes a favorite line.

 

Read her writing

and pay attention to the words –

they speak louder

when she’s sad.

Be there

when she falls

with ice cream and gummy bears.

 

Help her be better.

Bring her water when

she orders the drink

she won’t remember.

Say yes to late night food.

Always say yes to the food.

 

Laugh

when she dances for you.

Don’t get annoyed with “too much” laughter

or love

or emotion.

 

Just be –

Yourself.

And let her –

do the same.

 

NaPoWriMo: Stages & Different Pages

I was staying up late, fueled solely by sugar-filled Energy drinks,
with my head in the books, as they say.

But really my head was perched upon one hand
the other, set on the keyboard,
finger tapping the “J” as I read and reread my lead,
trying to drum some life into my words.

While she was sipping a light-beer in a country bar
with a man twice her age, as they say.

But really she was only a third-less his,
Wearing a new pair of the old flares,
and the same faux-suede shoes she’d soon slip-off
to slide on the dance floor in her socks.

Later, I would slip out of the newsroom
to answer my phone in the quiet college hall.
And return with a silent wonder,
Or a buzzing worry, rather.
But I hadn’t time to think of matters
not worthy of my front page.

So while she was becoming a mother
to one, and two and four,
I was chugging a glass of water
between 2-for-1 long islands
trying my best to keep a dizzy-head
level on the crowded dance floor.

She’d be passed out
in an old wooden rocker
for the brief silent moment
between the many midnight wakings.

And I, would wake to a friend jumping on our bed
and hold tight to the sheet –
the only thing between his feet
and our tangled limbs.

While she was growing her family,
one by one by one, and eventually two,
I was learning to manage my own team
of six self-deprecating stylists
and trying my best to love them
as she loved hers.

NaPoWriMo: Lines

Focus
on the lines,
they said.

But lines
lines are a funny thing.

Moving fast
and
slow.

When at the fair
you try to avoid
the long ones are a waste of time
but the longest of all,

might be worth the wait.

So, you start at the end
and wait
and wait.

Lines are a funny thing.

You highlight them
and repeat them aloud
’til in your memory
they are easily found.
But just before the final show
they decide to change them
ever so.

Lines are
a funny thing.

Sometimes you draw a line
to separate the right
from wrong
but sometimes
it’s just a fine line
between standing up for yourself
and hurting someone else.

At times, we blur the lines
between fact
and fiction
like when we enhance the catch
to feed the whole room
or relive a moment
that’s not quite our own
we assume the details
for story’s sake
but in turn, the tale
becomes ever so fake.

Lines are a funny thing.

We anticipate the front of the line
but we’re wary of being
on the front line.

Sometimes kids get out of line,
like when they swear at mom
because she said they need some time
off line.

Lines are a funny thing.

But, sometimes lines aren’t so funny.
Like the lines of work that seem to be known
for the power-thirsty bosses
who
get off the hook
when they cross the line
time
after time.

Perhaps, someone needs to
drop them a line
and let them know,

Time’s Up.

A different storm

 

[The following is the product of a 10-minute writing challenge on HitRecord.org. The prompt word: storm.]

They picture bright bolts of lightening striking the sky

and hear the rumble of the thunder in the clouds.

The wind blowing the leaves from the trees

and the rain pouring down on the ground.

Women shuffling their children inside the house,

grabbing towels to dry their babies’ wet hair.

Their puppies whimpering outside the bedroom door

beginning a night of rude awakenings.

 

I picture nothing but blurry red lights in a blanket of white

and hear the grinding of the anti-lock brakes beneath my feet.

I feel my heart starting to race and my breath escaping me.

The car swinging back and forth, fishtailing in the road.

Every muscle in my body tightening as I try to gain control.

I feel the sharp jolt as one cold box of metal slams into another.

The world going fuzzy as warm blood seeps out of my flesh,

the air freezing my entire body until the storm claims victory.